Poetry

The ancient war is on. 
You kill, 
or get killed. 
 
Do not jostle. 
You were sinking in quicksand 
taking on the depth. 
 
In exile, you 
wanted the remains of 
a brilliant moon, after it was possessed. 
 
The poet will find 
the jungle, standing quietly 
after the execution, was stayed. 
 
Between the witness 
and accused, the judge will not 
reverse, the slant of the truth.